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“Sorry. I’ll do better, promise.”
The day still blurs by. Once we’re back at the hotel for dinner before we leave for Fremont Street, I text Trace to meet us. Waiting for him is torture. It feels like a lifetime passes before I see my tall, blond man walking toward me. His smile is a barely there small one, which is both a good and bad sign. Good because it’s a smile. Bad because he’s still not doing well.
He wraps an arm around my waist and kisses the top of my head. “Y’all have fun today?”
“Yeah,” I answer, though I doubt I could honestly give him specifics. Rebecca leads the way upstairs to where all the food is located. “Did you end up doing anything?” I ask quietly.
Trace simply shakes his head. Dinner is awfully quiet, and even a little awkward. Afterward, we catch a cab. I’m so ready to go home. Maybe that’ll help Trace too. Or not. It hits me that going home also means going back to school and my parents visiting to meet Trace as my boyfriend. Maybe it wouldn’t hurt to stay in Vegas longer.
“Quit worrying,” Trace says in a low voice.
“I’m not worrying.”
He looks pointedly at my hand clutching my wrist. I force them apart and sit on my hands, causing him to chuckle. I want to comment that telling me not to worry is like telling me to not breathe. I can’t do it. It’s part of living for me. He already knows that, though.
The taxi driver drops us off in front of one of the hotels. The place is crawling with people and my chest tightens at the sight once we actually reach the midst of Fremont Street. The first thing I see is a man walking around with a cowboy hat and a thong. I look away before he can catch me looking. But that leads to a woman wearing a thong with angel wings on her back and those pasty flowers on her nipples.
Good lord.
I can’t do this.
Scenery overload!
There are clusters of people everywhere, and I step closer to Trace. It’s not like I think they are dangerous or anything, but how are they even able to walk around practically naked in public? I’m then distracted by a shriek, which causes me to jump. It’s only someone overhead on the zip line. Trace pulls me closer to him and rubs my back. Doubt that will soothe me.
We walk in and out of the souvenir shops, buying something to take home here and there. A little further down there’s a DJ playing music and people are dancing. There’s a bearded man in plain clothing wearing jeans and a T-shirt. He’s sweating and seems to be staring at something, but I’m not sure what. Suddenly, he moves as if he’s a pitcher throwing to a batter, and then he’s hitting an imaginary ball. He stalks out of the group, stops in an empty area, and begins nodding his head. He starts talking, having a conversation with no one.
That guy makes me a little nervous. He doesn’t seem like he’s here in the present, or in the same reality as the rest of us. Nonetheless, we watch the people dance for a few more minutes before walking some more. There’s another DJ at the end of the road. Waitresses in skimpy outfits are on the bar dancing. There’s too much going on here. It’s insane!
Rebecca wants to zip line, but we don’t. She goes to stand in line, and we wait for her at the other end. Trace wraps his arms around me, and I rest my head on his chest.
“How are you doing?” he asks.
“Ready to go home, even if it means flying.”
Trace laughs, but it sounds forced. I jump as I hear, “Hey, you!” A glance over my shoulder shows me the same man from earlier. He’s pointing a finger, but it’s like he sees something we don’t because there’s no one in that direction. He stalks off.
“How are you doing?” I tilt my head back to look at him.
“Ready to be home.”
“This time tomorrow, you’ll be there.” I glance up in time to see Rebecca flying toward us. She waves with a big grin. I could maybe do it if I were in an upright position, not this face-down position she had to do. A few minutes later, she joins us and tells us how exciting it was.
“Let’s find a place to watch the light show,” Trace says.
We walk down toward the intersection and stop there. This way we’re close to the road we’ll need to walk along to get a taxi back to our hotel. We only have to wait ten minutes. The light show is pretty cool, but not nearly as impressive as the fountain show. Sure, they are two different things, but I almost wish we went back to watch the fountain show again instead.
Rebecca seems bored too; she says she’s ready to head back.
“I think I’m going to play some more slots,” she says in the taxi ride back.
“How much have you lost?” I ask.
Rebecca laughs. “None! I have two hundred dollars right now, and that’s off my first twenty!”
I playfully glare at her. “That’s not right. I’ve lost a hundred dollars.” And boy, did it go fast! Losing money isn’t fun at all.
“I’ll play the slots with you,” Trace says, which surprises me. “I haven’t really played much. Might as well do it tonight.”
